


The Stars in the Bright Sky

by Daegaer



Category: Hut 33
Genre: 1940s, Christmas, Gen, Historical, Humor, World War II, Yuletide, code breakers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-20
Updated: 2009-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-04 16:38:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daegaer/pseuds/Daegaer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The staff of Hut 33 must stay in Bletchley over Christmas. Minka has an idea about how to celebrate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Stars in the Bright Sky

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Derry (derryderrydown)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/derryderrydown/gifts).



> Thank you to my beta-reader, Puddingcat!

"Josh," Archie said for the tenth time, "you've got it wrong, man. As usual. It's _Christmas_. We're all going _home_." He stabbed a pencil through his notebook in frustration. "_Home._"

"Archie's right," Charles said, rendering everyone else temporarily speechless. "This is a time for family and joyous celebration. I have proper cooking and St Sebastian's rather fine wine cellar awaiting me. Gordon has his mother's lovingly prepared dinner and the possible gift of long trousers to cheer his mind. Then there's Archie, sitting in the cheerless proletarian hovel, family gathered around a festive turnip and giving thanks to Stalin."

"Aye, I knew you weren't being decent," Archie said bitterly. "Josh, we can't stay in Bletchley, not over Christmas."

"My mum's expecting me tomorrow," Gordon said miserably. "Josh –"

"Now, chaps," Josh said, "it's really very simple." He took out some notes to act as an aide-memoire. "The war doesn't stop for Christmas," he read out. "It's vital to keep staff working in Bletchley Park, and personnel should be aware that not everyone will be granted leave during the festive season."

"Aye," Archie ground out, "but we all applied _months_ ago, and up till yesterday, we were all going home, on the grounds of being so bloody useless that no one would notice if we were here or not. So what changed?"

"It's rather a funny story," Josh said blithely, as if unaware how close to death he was coming. "Some of the chaps in Hut 12 asked if I'd like to play a quick game of "It's My Round" – I'm getting awfully good at that, you know; I don't think anyone else got to buy a round all night – and they asked me to play cards as well. It was a most amusing game – all the wagers had to be for things you couldn't touch, like permission to go on leave, or what shifts one would work and so on. Well, as you know, I'm a dab hand at cards and so –"

"You gambled away our leave," Charles said heavily. "_Really_, Joshua –"

"Oh, not just that," Josh said happily, "I won you all double shifts in the new year – you have to do Hut 12's work as well."

"Argh!" Archie yelled, trying to strangle him.

"Pah!" Minka said, emerging from nowhere. "Minka does not care about Christmas!"

"Gah!" everyone shrieked.

"Minka is happy to stay in Bletchley, fighting fascist pig-dog codes," Minka said. "Only alternative to lodgings is desolate, unhappy place filled with misery."

"Occupied Poland?" Gordon said in deep sympathy.

"No. My sister's flat in Cardiff." Minka gave them all a look that seemed designed to rally them and bring them hope, though it achieved mostly a general quailing in fear. "We will have Polish Christmas. Lots of food and games. Like pin tail on dead Nazi." She snapped her fingers. "Gordon, you come."

Gordon went.

 

* * *

 

"Are you sure we should be doing this?" Gordon hissed, as Minka rowed further and further along the river. "I don't even _like_ fish!"

"You eat meat on Christmas Eve?" Minka said in contempt. "What are you, German?" She directed a hard look his way. "You are not German, are you, Gordon?"

"No!" Gordon squeaked. "I'm not! Not at all! In fact, I love fish! Oh, fish on Christmas Eve, what a wonderful idea!"

"Stop whinging like little whingey English boy," Minka said. "Hold oars, Minka will fish." She took a stick of dynamite from her bag and lit the fuse, ignoring Gordon's whimpers. "What is wrong?" she said, standing up. "Is good dynamite, fuse not burn too quickly." She waited another agonisingly long couple of seconds, then flung the dynamite downstream in a pitch that would have won the admiration of any cricket captain. Gordon shrieked as a massive wall of water erupted up from the river and the boat was showered with fish, weeds, a duck and a couple of moorhens. "Hah," Minka said, tossing the birds into a sack. "We get Christmas Day dinner too!" She rowed down to the blast area, directing Gordon to scoop more unfortunate fish from the water. "Gordon, do not leave otter," she said, pointing to another floating corpse. "You English, so picky," she said as Gordon gingerly drew it aboard. "In Poland, otter very festive dish. We cook in oven, stuffed with swan stuffed with goose stuffed with duck stuffed with chicken stuffed with pheasant stuffed with pigeon stuffed with partridge stuffed with woodcock stuffed with snipe stuffed with sparrow stuffed with olive. Olive is stuffed with otter. It represent circle of life."

"How do you stuff an _otter_ with a _swan_?"

"Polish otter bigger on inside than on outside," Minka said firmly. "Everything go in."

"Oh," Gordon said faintly. "What do you call the dish?"

"Stuffed otter," Minka said, as if he were very, very simple. "Wait, what is that noise I hear?"

"The sirens?" Gordon said. "Probably the police coming to see who's dynamiting the area."

"Pah, police! Minka hate the police! _Oh, look at me, with my silly helmet and my stern-but-fatherly twinkle in the eye!_ Pah. No, other noise, like little whingey boy crying."

"I _wasn't!_" Gordon said in outrage.

"Much. We go now, or police make us say sorry to fish."

They rowed away, their supplies piled high around their feet and legs.

 

* * *

 

"Where's Minka, Mrs B?" Archie asked, looking into his pint as if he suspected it of hiding a Polish resistance cell.

"She's in the kitchen," Mrs Best said. "Cooking our supper, she was most particular that she had to do it so it'd be right. Fine by me, I said, I have to stay out front and cater to the clientele's wishes. Do you have any Christmas wishes, Archie?"

"Er, no," Archie said, backing off to hide behind Gordon as she leant over the counter. "I'm fine, me."

"Shame," Mrs Best said. "Where's Charles hiding?"

"He's having a nap so he'll be wide awake for Midnight Mass," Gordon said. "May I have another lemonade, please?" He drank the second as quickly as the first, as if wishing to drown his troubles in fizzy, sugary water.

"Are you all right, dear?" Mrs Best asked, looking at him in not very motherly concern.

"I'm a wanted man!" Gordon exclaimed.

"I wouldn't go that far," Mrs Best said, "but you'd do in a pinch." There was a resounding crash from the kitchen and a stream of loud Polish that made everyone wince.

"I'm no fancy Oxford linguist," Archie said, "although I do know the names for all the principal parts of a tractor in Russian – that wasn't ladylike language, though, was it?"

"I'd better check on her," Mrs Best said. "I did tell her not to use weapons as kitchen implements. I don't hold with all that foreign cuisine; flambéing with flamethrowers is just showing off." She went to do battle.

"Why are you wanted?" Archie said, looking askance at the way Gordon was pacing the floor.

"I went on the river with Minka and she dynamited the fish and we had to row very fast to avoid pursuit and then the police were waiting for us at the bridge only Minka tipped us into the river and we had to creep along holding the boat under water to create an air pocket for us to breathe and when we finally got out my actual pockets were full of snails and she said they'd make a good starter!"

"I – see," Archie said. "Never mind, lad. It could be worse, they could have actually caught you, and then you'd probably be wanted as an accessory to murder."

"Who is an accessory to murder?" Charles said, strolling in. "I assume we're discussing the violence you do to the English language on a daily basis, Archie?"

"Shut it, you. Come the revolution we'll all be speaking Geordie."

Charles shuddered. "Isn't it time for dinner?" he said. "I need some sustenance before going out in the cold."

"Aren't you supposed to fast?" Gordon said. "You said having breakfast before going to Communion was a weak Anglican habit that showed all the moral fibre of a doormat that's been nibbled on by donkeys."

"Oh, aye," Archie said, "full of Christian charity and the ecumenical spirit, is our Charles."

"Yes, well this is dinner not breakfast," Charles said. "And it's several hours till midnight, so it'll still count as fasting."

"Useless load of nonsense," Archie muttered.

"Dinner very soon," Minka said, knocking back a mouthful of homemade vodka from her hip flask.

"Gah!" they all shrieked.

"Don't sneak up on us like that, Minka," Charles said. "It's lacking in the Christmas spirit."

"When your village invaded by Nazis, they steal Christmas," Minka said, taking another swig. "You learn to creep down their chimney and steal it back." She took a deep breath. "You all go outside. Now."

"What?" Charles said. "It's cold out there!"

A pistol appeared in her hand. "Now," Minka said.

"Where were you hiding that?" Archie asked weakly, backing for the door.

"Festive place. Outside!"

 

* * *

 

It was very cold outside. They stood in a little knot, their breath gusting white in front of them, hands shoved deep in their pockets.

"Why are we out here?" Archie asked plaintively.

"This night is Wigila," Minka said, scanning the sky. "We wait, see star. When we see first star, then we have dinner."

"But it's overcast," Gordon said. "What if we don't see one? Do we have to stay out till we freeze?"

"We wait," Minka said in tones of deepest threat.

"You'd all better have some of this," Mrs Best said, handing round a small bottle. "Navy rum, it keeps the cold away. It's what the fleet issued to those poor German lads up at Scapa Flow. Oh, that was a cold place."

"You were up in Scapa Flow when the German ships were there?" Charles said. "I'm not sure I want any further details," he added, as a horribly nostalgic expression crossed Mrs Best's face. "I'm sure you did a lot for international relations."

"Look!" Gordon said. "The clouds are clearing!"

Overhead the cloud cover began to fray and dissipate, leaving the winter sky over the darkened town an absolute black in which the stars shone as points of purest white.

"The star," Minka said.

"The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light," Charles murmured, looking upwards.

"As long as it isn't a bomber looking for a target," Archie muttered, elbowing Gordon.

"Pah, you all make fun of everything, like little kiddies," Minka said. "When your country invaded by Nazis –" She kept her eyes firmly fixed on the stars, far away and cold. " – is hard," she said quietly.

The others shuffled their feet in silent embarrassment, until rescued by Mrs Best.

"We should probably go in and see how the dinner's coming along, shouldn't we?" she said brightly. "Come on, Minka, you know men are good for nothing unless they're fed every two hours." She led the way indoors, and firmly shoved Archie, Charles and Gordon in the direction of a neatly laid table.

"There's straw under the tablecloth," Archie said in bemusement.

"Is for animals in manger with baby Jesus," Minka said, marching in from the kitchens, fully recovered and soup tureen in hands.

"And there seems to be an extra place set," Gordon said.

"Minka see you really are mathematical genius," she said sarcastically. "Yes, for unexpected person. There is always enough food to share with one more person." She put the soup out of reach. "We break opłatek first," she said, and picked up a thin wafer from a dish on the table, snapping it in two. "May next year be better for us all," she said, passing a piece to Archie. "Break, keep piece, make good wish, pass it on," she said threateningly.

Good wishes exchanged, Minka allowed them to finally start eating. They had barely got through their dark purple beetroot soup before the door opened and Josh came in, pink cheeked from the cold.

"Hello!" he said, and looked hopefully at the table. "I don't suppose there's any chance of some dinner?" he said. "It's the oddest thing, but they'd forgotten to keep a place for me in the officers' mess. They said it couldn't be helped and I'd have to go to bed hungry and that Father Christmas would probably leave me nothing but coal, too. I don't think that's right, I've been very good all year."

"You sit," Minka said. "We keep place specially for you."

"Oh, _jolly_ good," Josh said, beaming at them all. "I suppose that's why there wasn't anything for me in the mess, I was supposed to be here all along."

"Josh –" Archie started in exasperation, then, "yes. This is where you were supposed to be." He lifted a glass of what Mrs Best called elderflower wine to avoid the attention of Customs and Excise, and toasted the table. "Merry Christmas."

"And may God bless the staff of Hut 33 and keep us together in the New Year," Gordon said.

Archie and Charles regarded him in horror.

"Let's not go that far," Charles said.

"For once I agree with you completely," Archie said.

"Everyone be quiet and eat," Minka said, appearing with the next course.

"Gah!" everyone shrieked, and then tucked in happily, their dinner made all the better for the company. Not that any of them would have admitted it.


End file.
